


heartbeat in my mind

by Blake



Series: Star Wars Punk AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Band Fic, F/F, I'm love arm, Instruction, Lap Sitting, PWP, Punk AU, awkward lesbians, self indulgent smut, sex on a drum kit, vegan pizza - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Leia asks Cara to teach her how to play the drums.
Relationships: Cara Dune/Leia Organa
Series: Star Wars Punk AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644880
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	heartbeat in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> I really am writing the Obikin prequel in this universe, but I got way distracted thinking about Leia and Cara, so here we are. Enjoy!

Leia keeps looking her way, brown eyes bright, wide-open, bottomless. Cara can’t figure out why, and it’s making her nervous. “What are you looking at?” she asks, panting a bit in between warm-up rudiments on her snare. Panting gives her an excuse not to control her tone, which is nice, because she’d probably come off as nervous otherwise.

“Nothing,” Leia answers coolly, turning back to her notebook. She’s sitting cross-legged on a rug in her parents’ garage, spine bent over her lyrics. Cara knows she’s not writing much, though. Leia always bites her lip when she’s writing.

Cara holds her sticks in her palms so she can adjust the band of her sports bra with her fingers, pulling it down from where the stretched-out elastic keeps riding up under her tank top. Maybe that’s why Leia keeps looking at her. Not that she’s ever seemed before like the kind of girl who judges the fit of other girls’ bras.

Cara’s the kind of girl who deliberately looks away from the fit of other girls’ bras because she’s paranoid about seeming predatory. It’s hard for her to image normal girls’ relationships with checking one another’s bras out. She left high school locker rooms behind her as soon as possible and replaced cardio workouts with drumming and hardcore shows, where, usually, nobody looks twice at how tight the band of her bra is. She feels blissfully invisible at hardcore shows, where bodies blend into the squirming mass of rage, where she’s generally accepted as one of the guys because of how hard she can hit things, and where Leia and the other girls are there to scream things she doesn’t have to wish she had words for anymore.

The rest of the band went to get pizza from the place all the way across town that has vegan cheese. Cara is beyond warmed up already, but she’d rather continue to hit things with sticks than interrupt Leia’s writing-not-writing session. Leia’s writing is the most important thing in Cara’s life, in a lot of ways. Leia’s belief that their band will make it, that this record deal is going to lead to better gigs and more money, her magical ability to hold an audience captive: these are the things that inspired Cara to take her leap of faith and do a gap year before college in order to devote herself to the band. _We can’t do it without you_ , Leia told her once, small hand clutching Cara’s arm in a way that made her feel important.

“What are _you_ looking at?” Leia asks a few minutes later.

The question makes Cara lose the beat. Again. “What? Me? Nothing.” Leia is so weird sometimes. Cara wasn’t looking at anything. Definitely not at the soft wisps of hair escaping Leia’s crown of braids to graze the nape of her neck like a kiss.

Her attention keeps slipping with all these stupid repetitive drills. She switches to one of their songs. Not that she needs the practice, but it’s supposed to be band practice time, not pizza-pickup time, so she might as well play their songs, since she’s the only one around.

But Leia keeps looking thoughtfully over at her. Cara pauses to adjust her beanie over her long hair. She’s starting to sweat through it, but she doesn’t want to put her hair in a ponytail yet, because she’d have to put her sticks down to do so, and her sticks are her security blanket in times of crisis. Like when pretty girls keep looking at her without explanation.

“Could you teach me?” Leia asks, breaking the silence out of the blue.

It’s startling. One of Cara’s sticks goes flying across the room. It’s fine. She’s got another one tucked into her sock. She pulls it out and clears her throat over the sound of the bass and the hi-hat, because there’s no way she’s letting her legs stop the rhythm and consign them to total silence. “Teach you to play drums?”

Leia’s lips part over her small, white teeth in a smile. “Yes.” She giggles.

Cara does stop playing then. She gives the matter serious thought and watches the bright sparkles in Leia’s eyes. “I’m self-taught, you know. I don’t know any lesson plans, or anything."

“Come on,” Leia says, still smiling. She rises effortlessly to her feet and comes over to the drum kit. Even with Cara sitting on her stool, Leia’s barely tall enough to look down at her. “I believe in you.”

Cara struggles to swallow, suddenly dry-mouthed and unable to think about why. She’s too busy looking up at Leia’s smile, which has tightened into an ironic, closed-mouthed twist. “Okay,” Cara agrees. She stands up and gets out of the way, struggling not to trip over her cymbal stands.

“Oh, it’s warm,” Leia comments when she sits down.

“Sorry.” Cara is usually better about stopping her automatic apologies, but it’s hard when a pretty girl is commenting on her leftover body-heat.

“Are you kidding?” Leia twists around to look up at her and grab the drumsticks right out of her hands. “I’ve been sitting on cold concrete. This is luxury.”

Luxury or not, the stool is too high. “Your heel should be on the floor with no problem, so you can step on the pedals.”

“O…kay.” Leia’s amused tone suggests she doesn’t know what on earth Cara’s talking about. She keeps skidding the sticks over every drum within reach. She only gasps a little “oh!” in surprise when Cara kneels down to adjust the stool under her.

“That’s better.” Cara grabs Leia’s narrow ankle and places her bare foot on the bass drum pedal. Her skin is smooth and soft, despite not being shaven. It’s hard to make herself let go, instead of sliding up the length of her calf to the hem of Leia’s long bike shorts.

When she stands up, Leia looks at her with a darker, more intense stare than ever before. Cara ducks her head, feeling caught, and gives some verbal instructions for how to hit the snare.

“Can you show me how to hold it?” Leia asks, not sounding very frustrated for someone who is so far very useless at playing the drums.

Cara bites her tongue hard and wraps her hand around Leia’s, holding the wrist straight and shaking until her fingers loosen. She’s not the best at talking under normal circumstances, no eloquent diplomat like Leia. But right now, she’s struggling to remember what words _are,_ she’s so tense with trying to carefully touch her bandmate without it crossing into weird territory.

She’s never even really had a crush on Leia, not really. She idolizes her too much. She wants to protect her too much. She beats up guys who look at Leia funny, and does whatever Leia says she should, because Leia is perfect and _everyone’s_ kind of in love with her. Cara’s not special or anything.

“Can you show me how to sit?”

Leia looks over her shoulder with pretty, half-lidded eyes. Her gaze flickers down to where Cara’s bra is riding up again. It makes it almost impossible to breathe. “How to _sit_?” Cara wishes she still had an excuse to sound so breathless. She wishes she could hide behind her drums again.

“Here, sit,” Leia says, standing up but not making much room for Cara to take her place. Cara always does whatever Leia says she should, so she sits on the now too-short stool, wondering why she’s having such an impossibly difficult time being normal about Leia’s requests. This shouldn’t be as weird as Cara is making it. And _when_ will the other girls get back with the vegan pizza?

Then Leia sits down in her lap, and it’s all downhill from there. Hot center of Cara’s belly, cold streaks running across her body, and it feels like the only place she’s breathing is where Leia’s hips and thighs melt into her own.

Leia looks over her other shoulder this time. She’s not smiling anymore, which makes Cara feel slightly better about the fact that her jaw is clenched and she’s breaking a sweat just trying to hold still. “Even warmer,” Leia says.

“Uh.” Cara tries to think. It should technically be easier to guide someone when you’re sitting in the exact same place than it is when you’re standing and watching. She brings her thighs in closer together, hooks them on the inside of Leia’s knees, and then spreads again, settling Leia’s legs wide enough her feet can reach both pedals despite the extra height of Cara’s hips.

The gasp of breath from Leia’s mouth sends a shiver of worry down Cara’s spine. She’s probably making things weird, because she’s so disoriented by Leia’s proximity that her usual, carefully calibrated navigation systems have gone haywire. All that herbal conditioner and fruity, spicy, clean-sweat smell has gone to her head. She should put an end to this before Leia decides she’s creepy and never looks her in the eye again.

Leia sits back a little, adjusting herself and incidentally grinding the brunt of her weight down just above Cara’s pubic bone. Physiologically, it’s overwhelming. A burst of air tears out of her throat.

And just like that, Leia stands up again, hands over her mouth. In disgust, probably, realizing how dirty Cara was making this perfectly innocent drum lesson. “I’m sorry,” Leia says. She steps in, then out, then back in again, apparently trying to decide how close she wants to be to Cara, who can do nothing but sit still and try her best to play it cool.

“It’s cool,” Cara insists, grinding her teeth. She misses the warm weight in her lap like she’s being deprived of oxygen.

“I shouldn’t have assumed—” Leia reaches out, reaching out with one hand, close enough _almost_ to touch Cara’s arm, but then pulling away.

“What.” Cara puts on a self-deprecating tone, the quickest, safest way out of this kind of thing. “That I could be normal about a hot girl on my lap for one s—?”

“I—” Leia goes curiously still for a moment, then reaches up to adjust her own braids. Cara fiddles with her fingers, since the drumsticks are long gone, dropped to the floor and rolled across the room. Leia doesn’t avert her eyes, which makes it simultaneously appealing and impossible for Cara to look away. “Well, I more meant I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you’re gay, I could, well—”

The silence goes on just long enough that Cara has to ask, “You could what?” She struggles to swallow. Her body thrums with anticipation, but she knows it’s stupid to get her hopes up. Any second now, Leia will finish her sentence in a way that makes it absolutely clear she never wants to sit on Cara’s lap again.

Leia swallows too, the soft skin of her neck shifting over her throat. Because she’s fearless like that, she smiles. It’s self-deprecating in a familiar, relatable way. “That I could hit on you and you’d be down. I’m sorry. I—”

Cara catches her by the wrist just as she starts to turn away. Leia comes easily, so easily, drifting right into the space between Cara’s spread legs, and it feels like a sign from god, the heavens opening up in the form of an overhead garage light and showing her the path to salvation, Leia standing over her and waiting to be kissed.

And god, Cara wants to kiss her.

So she tugs Leia down with a hand at the back of her neck and kisses her. Leia melts right into it, without a moment of hesitation, and a strange mix of vindication and pure elation makes Cara smile, opening her mouth to Leia’s tongue. She guides Leia with a hand on her hip to settle on her lap again. Leia stabilizes herself with two hands gripping Cara’s arms, but she doesn’t let go once she’s seated. She just rubs up and down, probing Cara’s mouth with her tongue, circling her hips against Cara’s hand and still somehow grinning madly.

“Oh my god, I thought I fucked up so badly,” Leia whispers, grinding their foreheads together, her panting breaths louder than her voice. “Just cuz you’re so hot and butch. You must have girls come at you all the time and just—”

Cara shuts her up with a kiss again. She loves the shape of Leia’s neck under her palm, and the tickle of those soft brown hairs against her knuckles as their bodies move together. This is the best she’s ever felt.

Leia’s hands slide up from her arms to card through her hair, pushing her beanie off and replacing the pressure with searching touches. Cara pulls her in closer by the waist, feeling the warm, soft skin of her lower back against her inner forearm. She feels like she might burn up, spontaneously combust on this cheap drumkit stool because _Leia_ wants to _kiss her_. There’s no way she’s going to blow this by telling Leia she doesn’t actually have _any_ girls lining up at the door, that she doesn’t have much experience at all. She’s going to do this right, make Leia believe she can do this right.

And maybe there’s something to be said for natural intuition, because she can just _tell_ by the way Leia’s grinding down on her lap that she’s wet. Cara spreads her legs just to spread Leia’s thighs further, too, just enough to get a hand down the front of her shorts. “Can I touch you?” she asks, pressing her palm against the bleeding heat of Leia’s soft abdomen, brushing her thumb lower and lower until she feels the bristly scrape of trimmed-but-not-shaven hair.

“Um, fuck, yes,” Leia agrees. She fucks Cara’s mouth with her tongue, almost like she’s distracting herself, like she needs somewhere to put all the excess energy generated by Cara’s hand stretching her shorts to search lower and lower.

They gasp into each other’s mouths when Cara finds the wetness waiting for her, when she drags through it in wonder, trying to memorize the glide of every inch of flesh under her fingertips.

There’s not much breathing, after that. “Oh, my god,” Leia says, voice guttural like it’s being fucked out of her, even though Cara’s just stroking her clit, exploring and desperate.

“You feel so good, princess,” Cara says, unthinking. Leia’s face tilts to the ceiling, exposing her throat. Cara can’t kiss her anymore, so he drops her forehead onto the flat bone of her sternum, biting her t-shirt and watching the fabric catch around the soft curve of her tits. She wants to find Leia’s nipples with her mouth, but that might have to wait for another day.

“You can fuck me,” Leia says to the ceiling, more a suggestion than a submission, but it’s her pelvis grinding down on Cara’s hand that really gets the point across.

So Cara slips a finger inside, and it’s hot and wet and perfect, but it doesn’t feel right, because—Yes, she slips two fingers in this time, and Leia grips down around her, bearing down on her knuckles, chest expanding huge against Cara’s cheek.

Forget waiting for another day. Cara crooks her fingers, letting Leia settle herself down on them, and mouths over to the swell of Leia’s breast, tonguing over the t-shirt fabric until she feels something harden, then latches on. With her mouth occupied, she can focus again on the tight heat closing up around her, on the ridges and smooth flesh under her fingertips, on the velvety hardness grinding down against the heel of her hand.

She puts a third finger in because she thinks she can, and because she wants to feel more and more and more. She’s never been so grateful for the strength that comes with drumming. She drops one hand to hold up one of Leia’s thighs, propping her pelvis at an angle that she can just _tell_ is good, and drilling her fingers into her at the same time, feeling that hard pulse building against her palm.

“Fuck,” Cara says with her teeth bitten down around the hard nub of Leia’s nipple. Maybe she can get Leia on the floor, and make the angle even better, make her come apart at the seams and fuck her so good she’ll never want anything else. But there’s a building heat coming from somewhere, she can feel it in her bones like it’s coming from within herself, but it’s coming from Leia’s body, a tightening, a tsunami about to break, a tension in all those lean muscles, about to snap.

When it happens, the clutch of Leia’s hands spasm in Cara’s hair, on her shoulder, wherever they happen to be. Cara can barely feel her own body right now, she’s so wrapped up in feeling Leia coming, squeezing around her fingers, fluttering, pulsing wet into her palm, twitching, shuddering all over, the most real thing Cara has ever felt.

Breathless, Cara stares into the overhead light, waiting ambivalently for a sign that she’s alive, that she hasn’t completely disappeared into Leia’s body. It wouldn’t be such a bad fate. She wouldn’t mind never feeling anything herself again, if she can feel so much through someone else’s pleasure.

The first change is Leia’s laughter, light and sweet in her ear. “God, you’re incredible,” Leia murmurs. Cara can barely hear it over the ringing and pressure in her ears. There’s a new surge of wetness pushing out around her knuckles. One of Leia’s braids has fallen down to tickle across her cheek. There’s a hand stroking firm and steady up and down the top of her spine. Cara doesn’t know what sensations to focus on. “Can I make you come, too? I could do this all night.”

Of course, the first sensation Cara is able to focus on is the grinding sound of the old Ford engine pulling up outside the garage—the girls come back with the pizza. Cara feels a protective need to get Leia cleaned up and presentable before they come in. Anything else can wait until later.

“Later, princess,” she promises, slipping out of her with some mournful final strokes and then pulling free from her shorts, sealing the cinch of her waistband across her soft stomach with a kiss. There’s still the matter of the giant drool spot over one of her nipples, but Cara can’t look at the translucent fabric without losing her mind all over again, so she just hands over the flannel shirt draped over the bass drum and gestures for her to cover up with it.

The buzz of the electronic garage door fills the room. Leia stands up and shrugs on Cara’s too-big flannel. Cara smiles at her, thinking rapid-fire thoughts she’d never thought before, like thoughts about suffocating between Leia’s thighs, like smelling her sheets, like looking at her in the light of early morning.

In the few seconds before the garage door draws up high enough to expose the two of them to the night, Leia bends down for one more kiss, finding the back of Cara’s mouth with her tongue all too easily, like she’s already learned all her secrets and knows exactly what she wants. 

**Author's Note:**

> moodboard and Tumblr post found [here](https://newleafover.tumblr.com/post/611336050873368576/heartbeat-in-my-mind-by-blake-3k-e-cara)


End file.
